


Toad Juice

by whoseclues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom Pansy Parkinson, F/F, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Dom/sub, Post-War, Praise Kink, Smut, Strap-Ons, Sub Hermione Granger, literally just smut, muggle bar, really there is no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoseclues/pseuds/whoseclues
Summary: Pansy and Hermione run into each other at a Muggle lesbian bar after the war.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 170





	Toad Juice

**Author's Note:**

> here lies smut. not much more to it!
> 
> characters obviously not mine. they're a lot more queer in this version of reality. 
> 
> first time posting anything here; would love comments.
> 
> also, trans people are who they say they are. thought i'd mention in case jk is lurking around these waters.

“I think what people want is simple.” 

The girl next to Pansy at the bar raises her eyebrows. 

They’d recognized each other right away—of course they'd recognized each other—but they’d both decided to pretend. 

“Oh?” Hermione says. “What’s that?” 

Hermione shifts a little in her seat, so her body is titled just slightly more towards Pansy. She takes a sip of her cranberry and vodka. 

“My theory is, most people are walking in the woods most of their lives,” says Pansy. “They’re alone, they’re cold. They’re naked.” 

Pansy doesn’t break eye contact, and Hermione leans forward, one elbow on the bar, her hand on her drink. 

“They don’t want to be alone, though. All they want, really, is to stumble into a coven of witches. Little hut in the woods, crackling fire. Green skin.”

Hermione stares at her for a second; then she laughs out loud. Pansy smiles a little. They’re in a Muggle bar, a Muggle _lesbian_ bar at that, and no one they know has probably ever been here before, but somehow they found each other, and they’re talking about witches like they don’t exist. 

“Okay, witches,” Hermione says. “And what’s so great about these witches?”

“Nothing,” says Pansy. “That’s exactly what it is. All anyone wants, deep down, is to stumble on these witches, and see an empty seat in their circle, and a cold goblet of toad juice that’s there waiting for them.” 

“Toad juice?” Hermione is lapping it up now, her body turned entirely towards Pansy, the cranberry vodka almost half gone. 

Hermione’s desperate for something—desperate to forget her life for a while, perhaps—and Pansy understands this, because Pansy is desperate too. 

It was easy for some of them, after the war. The people who weren’t involved; the people who skated by. Even some of the people who were there at Hogwarts survived intact—the ones who didn’t lose anyone, who didn’t have to sell their souls for someone else’s war. 

But for people like Pansy, who were on the wrong side, and people like Hermione, who’d given just a little too much of herself . . . for people like them, nothing had been easy since. Nothing, it sometimes seemed, would ever be easy again.

“Yeah,” says Pansy. “Toad juice. Still cold. So the witches nod, and they tell the person to take a seat. And you know what the witches say?” 

A soft smile. A tilt of the head. “You’re going to have to tell me.”

Pansy knocks back the rest of her gimlet, lets the moment linger. “They say, ‘We've been hoping you would come.’” 

—

Pansy takes Hermione back to her apartment. Hermione isn’t out to her friends, Pansy learns, and that makes it all the more delicious, knowing something about Hermione that she hasn’t trusted anyone with, not the Weasel, or the other Weasel, or the boy saviour himself. 

Hermione isn’t experienced, never had a girlfriend, only fooled around with a few girls before. One-night things. _Not like this_ , Pansy knows Hermione is thinking. But Hermione doesn’t really believe it, and Pansy knows this too. 

Pansy offers Hermione a drink, and Hermione takes it, drinks half the scotch in one gulp. She’s nervous. Her hands are shaking. Pansy keeps the lights off, leads her into the bedroom, shuts the door. She takes the Hermione’s clothes off slowly, giving her time to adjust. Pansy’s cold, sometimes, but she isn’t cruel. And something about this feels different. 

Hermione’s body is beautiful. It’s dark in the room, but Pansy can tell. She’s a hair taller than Pansy, curvier. Soft. Pansy loves when a woman is soft. 

Pansy’s still fully clothed. She loves having someone bare before her. She loves the power. 

“I’m gonna touch you now,” Pansy says, telling and asking at the same time, waiting for Hermione to react. Hermione nods, quickly, almost frantically. She needs this. Pansy knows what it’s like to need something you don’t feel you can have. 

She starts with a nipple. Hermione gasps, her whole body trembling from the shock of it. Pansy doesn’t believe in starting slow. She rubs her thumb over Hermione’s left nipple, slow circles, feeling it harden beneath her fingers. 

“Oh,” says Hermione, a shuddery, low sound, and Pansy pulls her close, her hands all over her now, rubbing up and down her sides, fingertips trailing down her back.

She skims the top of Hermione’s arse and Hermione makes an abortive moment forward, pressing closer into Pansy. 

“On the bed,” Pansy says. “Come on. On the bed.”

She spreads Hermione out beneath her, all round curves and beautiful smooth skin. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Pansy says, voice soft. She doesn’t break eye contact, and the girl comes apart beneath her. She needs to be controlled. She craves it. Pansy won’t go too far, not without talking about it. She has a policy about that, always talking these things through first. But she also has a policy against sticking around long enough to talk things through. So she’ll stick to gentle commands. It won’t take much with Hermione. She can tell. 

Hermione spreads her legs, nervous, still shaky. 

“Good girl,” Pansy says, and Hermione moans just a little, just enough that Pansy knows how to take her apart. “Spread them nice and wide, a little more—good girl, you’re doing so well.” 

Hermione is breathing hard beneath her, even though they’ve barely started. Pansy cups her face with one hand, and presses a finger against Hermione’s mouth. 

“Open up for me,” she says in a voice she might use for a pet, or a small child. “Open up.” 

Hermione does, she opens her mouth, takes Pansy’s middle finger inside, and sucks on it like she’s desperate for it. She runs her tongue over Pansy’s finger, all around, soaking it. 

“That’s right,” Pansy breathes. “Suck me like a good little girl.” 

Abruptly, she pulls her finger from Hermione’s mouth. It’s shiny with spit. Hermione’s eyes are wide. She’s panting, wriggling a little. 

“Please,” she whispers, and even though she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, Pansy does. 

“Shh,” Pansy says, cupping her face again. She kisses her, open-mouthed and wet and dirty, and then she takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking it. Hermione gasps, her back arching. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” Pansy whispers. 

Hermione’s legs go wide, and Pansy sits back. Hermione lifts her head, confused, but Pansy puts her hands on Hermione’s thighs, high up, near where her legs meet to still her. 

“Stay still,” she says, and her voice is quiet but there’s a note of warning in it that makes Hermione let out a breath, fast and desperate, and drop back to the bed. 

“Don’t want you moving,” Pansy says. “Don’t want you to come until I say you can.”

And then her head is between Hermione’s legs, and her nose is nearly buried in Hermione’s pubes, and she sniffs her, trying to smell her essence. Some people think it’s strange, but a woman’s scent is one of the things Pansy loves most. 

“Please,” Hermione whimpers. She squirms a little, not enough to get in trouble, but enough to show Pansy she needs this. She needs it now. 

“Okay, baby,” Pansy whispers. Hermione shivers, feeling the words between her legs.

Pansy tastes her. Just one swipe of her tongue, soft, just a suggestion. Hermione lets out a small, broken sound. Her hands clutch at the sheets, trying to find purchase. 

“Doing so good,” Pansy says, one hand stroking her thigh, the other hand coming up to touch her belly, soft and full. 

Hermione moans at that, loud and needy, and Pansy kneads at her stomach, stroking the rolls until Hermione can’t stay still any longer. 

“Please, Pansy,” Hermione whimpers. She sounds almost close to tears. “I need . . .”

“I know, baby,” Pansy says. “Such a good girl for me. Momma’s gonna make you come now. Momma’s gonna make you feel good.” 

Pansy dives into Hermione’s cunt. She licks a stripe over her cunt, and then she parts the lips and slips her tongue inside, fucking Hermione with her tongue. Hermione’s making soft, aborted sounds, little breaths. She’s close. Pansy slips a finger inside her cunt, no warning, and Hermione cries out. 

“I need—I— _please_ —”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” says Pansy. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come all over my fingers.”

She slips a second finger in. She spits on Hermione’s cunt and licks her clit, her mouth all over it, wet and messy, while she fucks into Hermione with two fingers. 

“Come for me, baby,” Pansy says. She reaches under them with her other hand and slips the tip of one finger into Hermione’s arsehole, and that’s all it takes.

Hermione falls apart, a mess of moaning and writhing, and Pansy fucks her through it, soothing her until she’s lying still. 

“Now I’m gonna fuck you,” Pansy says. She strips off her pants. She spits into her hand and rubs her dick, getting it wet. She doesn’t need much. Hermione’s cunt is soaked. 

“Lie back, baby,” she says. Hermione lets out a breath when she sees Pansy’s dick, her eyes wide. She’s relaxed, all fucked-out, but still, she feels something when she sees the dick. Pansy smiles. “Okay, baby?” 

“Yeah,” Hermione breathes. She’s lying there just the way Pansy left her, sprawled on the bed, legs wide. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” Pansy says. “I’m gonna make you feel it. You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, aren’t you.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione says, and she squirms a little, excited again. 

“Wider,” Pansy says. “Hold them open for me.”

Hermione gasps a little, spreads her legs, holds them behind her knees. She’s all spread out now, just for Pansy. 

“Good girl,” Pansy says, and then she sinks her dick into Hermione’s cunt. Hermione moans, head thrown back. She’s not used to having a dick in her pussy.

“Good girl,” Pansy says again, and then she starts fucking her. She fucks her in long, hard strokes, deep inside Hermione’s cunt. Her hands grab Hermione’s tits, squeezing them, down to her stomach, squeezing its folds until Hermione is quivering, crying out with every thrust. 

“I’m—I need—”

“I want you to come on my dick,” Pansy says, and Hermione cries out and comes again, pulsing over and over on Pansy’s dick, sopping wet, all over the sheets. 

Pansy pulls out. She unstraps the dick. 

“I’m gonna sit on your face,” she says. Hermione nods, frantic, even though she’s come twice. 

Pansy rides her face hard. She rocks herself back and forth, working herself on Hermione’s tongue. Hermione must be nearly suffocating, but Pansy’s made sure she can breathe. 

“Good girl,” Pansy says, her own voice shaky now. “Gonna come all over you, princess.” 

It doesn’t take long before she’s coming in Hermione’s mouth, trembling over her, squeezing Hermione’s head with her thighs. When she gets off her, she kisses Hermione’s mouth, open-mouthed again, licking her tongue inside, tasting herself on Hermione. She never wants to forget that taste. 

Hermione goes to pull on her underwear, but Pansy shakes her head. She doesn’t usually ask people to stay, but it feels wrong to ask Hermione to go. 

If Pansy’s honest, she doesn’t want her to. It feels, for the first time in a long time, like something’s gone right. Just one tiny thing. Like there’s someone else out there who understands that the war changed things, that maybe nothing will ever be the same again. 

“You stay naked,” Pansy says. “You can have your clothes back in the morning. I want you ready for me when I wake up.” 


End file.
